


Don't Give Them Anything To Talk About

by potter_queen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-09-28 18:59:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17188553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/potter_queen/pseuds/potter_queen
Summary: Draco closed his eyes to reflect upon his current situation. He knew, objectively, how lucky he was. All things considered, he should be rotting away in Azkaban right now, like the rest of the Death Eaters who hadn’t been killed in the war, or at least on permanent house arrest like Father. It was funny, even after the war and its atrocities, a large enough cheque could keep anyone out of Azkaban, even if it could not make you a free man.Draco has returned to Hogwarts as part of his probation, and Harry can't stop staring at him. Draco just needs some friends and to discover who he truly is, and Harry's learning how to have a normal year at Hogwarts, without Voldemort breathing down his neck.





	1. Chapter 1

“Chin up, Draco. Shoulders back.”  
Draco’s eyes fluttered shut as his mother placed her hands gently on his shoulders, smoothing his elegant nut subdued black cloak down.  
“Don’t let them see how you’re feeling. Don’t give them anything to talk about.”  
She walked round to face him, and he opened his eyes to watch her. Her beautiful face was inscrutable, but Draco knew her well enough to see the anxiety in her eyes.  
“I’ll see you at Halloween, Mother.”  
“Write to me.” Her facade slipped slightly as she held out her hand, her voice pleading. Draco felt the lump in his throat grow. He stepped forward to kiss her pale cheek. “I will, Mother.”  
“Be strong, Draco.” He steeled his face and squared his shoulders before he left her, unable to look at her again, for fear that he would fall to his knees and beg her not to make him go, for her to make it all better, like she did when he was a child. Instead, he walked down the cold corridor to where he knew his father would be waiting.

“Father.” Draco stood in the door of the dark bedroom, addressing the figure slumped in the old armchair. He walked forward into the dimly lit room till he was closer to his father than he had been in months. He kept his face blank as his father looked up to meet his eyes for the first time since the trail. Draco was filled with unbearable emotion, the lump grew and made his breathe catch. He turned to leave when his father spoke.  
“Draco.” Draco breathed out a shaky breath, hearing his own father speak his name for the first time in months. He did not turn.  
“I do not have much to be proud of. But I am proud of you.” Draco stayed rooted in his spot, the words washing over him and filling him with something he could not explain.  
“Goodbye Father.”

~

Smoke swirled around Draco and stung his eyes as the train slid into the platform. He was much too early, there was no one but Draco there to see the magenta train pull into the station. He would be waiting several hours before it was to depart, but if waiting meant avoiding the stares and possible (highly likely) violent remarks or attacks, Draco would wait all night. As soon as the engine whirred into silence and the doors of the carriages opened, Draco stepped onto the first carriage, which was always the last to fill. He made his way to the top compartment and slipped inside, locking the door behind him and drawing the blinds with a flick of his wand, plunging the compartment into darkness. He cast a lumos which relit the compartment with soft light.  
Sinking into the plush bench he let out a sigh. So far so good, which meant of course that everything could only go downhill from here.

Draco closed his eyes to reflect upon his current situation. He knew, objectively, how lucky he was. All things considered, he should be rotting away in Azkaban right now, like the rest of the Death Eaters who hadn’t been killed in the war, or at least on permanent house arrest like Father. It was funny, even after the war and its atrocities, a large enough cheque could keep anyone out of Azkaban, even if it could not make you a free man.  
Draco’s own sentence had been shockingly (and extremely controversially) lenient. He had been tried as a child, even though most of his crimes had been committed after he turned seventeen. Nonetheless, it was Potter’s testimony that had kept him from prison. Anyone the Golden Boy had spoken for had been acquitted or received much too lenient sentences; Draco and his family, Stan Shunpike, and others. Draco could still not understand why Potter had chose to testify in his favour. When he had first stepped into the courtroom, Draco had presumed he was there to testify against him and his family. His mouth had dropped open in shock when he realised the opposite was true. Draco thought back to that awful day. Potter had been stoic and one minded in the courtroom, had arrived with moments to spare and left the instant the verdict had been delivered.  
His father’s wand had been heavily warded, and his body had been placed under a tracking spell, in case he ever tried to leave the Manor’s grounds. His mother’s wand, too, had been warded, but not as heavily, and she was presented with a list of places she was forbidden to go. She had accepted her punishment gracefully, never letting her mask slip, as she did all things. Potter’s testimony, along with the fact she had never been branded with the Dark Mark, meant she received only a light sentence.

Draco had been presented with a similar list of forbidden places, although his was much longer, and included Hogsmeade and most of the establishments on Diagon Alley. Then was presented with a choice, which was largely unheard of. He could serve five years of time in Azkaban, or a life of parole, provided he finished his Hogwarts degree. It had been no brainer, Draco and his family, along with all those other awaiting trial, had been thrown in Azkaban while the trails were arranged, and Draco could already feel his sanity leave him in the short weeks he had been kept there. He had accepted a lifetime of parole without even considering it at all.

So here he was, five months later, sitting on the Hogwarts Express. The platform outside was beginning to get busy, he could tell from the noise outside, because he had drawn the blind. Dread uncurled his fists which he hadn’t realised he’d been clenching. He took some deep breaths, and tried to prepare himself for the year to come.

~

Harry’s face ached from smiling. All around him were people vying for his attention, friends clapping him on the back, younger students waving enthusiastically from further away. Hermione, thank Merlin, had stuck close to him, and prevented the crowd from engulfing him completely. He smiled and waved and shook hands till his hand felt like it was seizing up, all the while dreaming of the soft four poster bed in the dorm, and the peace and solitude it’s thick drapes provided.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t appreciate their gratitude, or understand their need to thank him. Afterall, he had done all he did for everyone here, for kids to return safely to Hogwarts, purebloods and muggleborns alike. It was just that, sometimes he felt overwhelmed by it all. The constant presence of admirers, their incessant chatter and energy, sometimes it felt like he was being stifled, like he was trapped by the constant watchfulness.

A moment of peace came when Professor McGonagall rose to speak at the feast. As she spoke, Harry allowed his face to relax, his shoulders to slump and his eyes to flutter shut. As the new Headmistress commanded the attention of the students, Harry took deep breaths, convincing himself he could get through the next few hours till he could collapse into bed.  
And the next nine months? His mind helpfully provided. Oh God. His breathing caught in his throat at the thought. People will get bored soon, he reasoned with himself. They always have in the past. 

“And with all that said, let the feast begin!”  
Harry jerked back to the present as the smell of roast chicken and ham and every side imaginable filled the air. An elbow jammed into his ribs. “Harry.” Hermione’s concerned face peered into his. “Are you okay?”  
He nodded to her. “Just.. strange being back. This is my first feast without Ron.”   
Hermione smiled sadly and gripped his hand to squeeze it quickly. He knew she was feeling Ron’s absence just as acutely as he was, perhaps even more so. Not all of the so-called ‘eighth years’ had decided to return to Hogwarts. Harry, Ron and Hermione had each been offered jobs as trainee aurors. Hermione had declined immediately, she wished to finish her education before deciding on a career path. Harry had taken more time to decide. It had always been his dream to become an auror, but when the opportunity had truly arose, he had felt a deep sense of horror at the prospect. Suddenly, chasing dark wizards seemed terrifying; something within him had changed. He realised he wasn’t ready for the responsibilities that came with being an adult. He wanted one more year of school, one where he wouldn’t have anything to worry about except his schoolwork, and quidditch, and the house cup.   
Ron had been the only one of them who accepted the offer. He started training over a month ago. It had been strange at first, seeing Ron in his smart uniform, and listening to him babble excitedly about the new things he was learning. He was doing great, and Harry was incredibly happy and proud of his best friend, but he couldn’t help feel a bit left out, especially when Ron talked about his fellow trainees. “Today Fergus said the funniest joke, pants, what was it again?” “Harry, you wouldn’t have believed the hex Angus pulled off today, it was incredible!” “Harry, you just have to meet Theo, you’ll love him…”  
Harry missed him now though, as he ate and wondered what the rest of the year would be like.

Of all the Gryffindor boys, only he and Dean had returned to finish school. Neville would be staying in the dorm as well, although he was working this year as Professor Sprout’s apprentice. Seamus had gotten a job working for the Prophet in the sports column, and was now living in London, so would not be returning.

Harry counted off the eighth years in the other houses too, scanning the tables to do so. He reached the Slytherin table last, scanning it for Parkinson or Zabini or Nott. He realised with a jolt that Malfoy was the only one left. In fact, the Slytherin table itself was looking very sparse, completely different to the other House tables, all full to the brim. The Slytherins sat in little clumps, talking quietly among themselves, looking much more subdued than the other tables. Malfoy himself sat alone at the top of the table, head down, eating neatly but quickly. Harry watched him for a few moments, frowning. It was strange to see Malfoy eating alone, he was used to him being surrounded by his friends, jostling for his attention. He looked odd and out of place, and lonely. 

~


	2. Chapter 2

The dorm Draco had spent so many years in felt so different without the others. It was colder without four other people to warm it up, and for the first time ever, the wall-sized window looking into the lake was scaring Draco. He couldn’t look away from it, watching the dark shapes move in the water, casting shadows in the dark room. He shivered as the end of a tentacle appeared and disappeared at the edge of the window.  
Draco’s bed was right in the middle of the room, as it always had been. Greg’s old bed was between his and the window, Nott’s across from Gregs on the other wall, and Blaise’s at the foot of Draco’s. On the other side of Draco’s, Draco’s eyes stung at the thought, was where Vin used to sleep, always on Draco’s left, flanking him protectively. Draco swallowed. It had been harder than Draco had expected to come into this room again, to be surrounded by memories from happier times.

Draco sighed and rolled onto his back, admitting to himself that he could not sleep. Classes were going to be hard tomorrow. Draco could not remember a time when he had to go to classes alone. Even throughout sixth year, when he had felt alone and on edge every moment of every day, Vin and Greg had stuck to his sides like glue, even though he barely spoke to them and certainly never told them what he was up to, although he suspected they knew all along.   
He’s moving before he really knows where he’s going. The hardwood floor is cold under Draco’s bare feet, and he feels goosebumps on his arms under his pyjama set. He approaches the bed slowly, like it’s the grave they never got to give Vin. His hand reaches out, unnervingly white in the dark, to touch the green bedspread. He hears a sob ring out in the dark, and with a shock realises that he’s crying. The sobs rack his body as he pulls back the cover and crawls inside. Its cold, and smells clean; not like Vin at all, but somehow Draco senses his presence anyway, feels comfort knowing that he slept here for so many years. He hugs his own hands to his chest, curling up small and trying to pretend he’s not terrified.

~

 

“Don’t let them see how you’re feeling. Don’t give them anything to talk about.”   
Draco let his mother’s voice ring in his mind, enveloping him in strength. He felt a stinging hex pinch his leg, but he didn’t allow his carefully schooled features to slip.   
“Scum!”  
He marched forward, ignoring them all. What did they know? He walked quickly but carefully, arriving at the door of the Potions lab just as Slughorn rose from his ridiculous armchair at the top of his class to teach. He allowed himself a moments satisfaction at his perfect timing before he slipped into a chair at the back, determinedly ignoring the stares from the other students, keeping his eyeline trained forward. 

His morning classes had gone more or less as he had expected, he sat on his own at the back of every class, ignoring the glares. The walks to each classroom had been somewhat more eventful, however. Without the watchful eyes of the professors in the hallways, the students had cast hexes and jinxs at his back everywhere he walked, yelling slurs and him and chucking bits of parchment at his head. So far, no one had cast anything too severe, and he hadn’t been ganged up on too badly, but he did not try to kid himself that that was not coming, and he stayed watchful at all times, his hand never leaving his wand, tucked in his sleeve.  
He was here for one reason and one reason alone this year; to keep his head down and sit his NEWTs. He would make his mother (and father) proud. He would achieve marks so good that he could not be denied work when he finished school. 

Slughorn nattered on at the top of the class about the first potion they would be brewing that year; a simple common cold remedy. Draco drowned him out, he had spent the summer holed up in his room reading his textbooks and practicing potions and spells, and he was confident he could successfully brew this particular one in his sleep. Besides, Slughorn rarely did much more than repeat information from the textbook, so unlike Severus who used to teach much more valuable information. He felt a pang at the memory of his Godfather, and forced himself to tune back in to Slughorn’s booming voice in an attempt not to think about Severus.

“Now… we’ll have to pair you all up.” Oh, Salazar, Draco felt his stomach drop. “Lets see… well in the spirit of Interhouse unity, let’s mix you all up, shall we?” Slughorn boomed jovially, his beringed hands resting on his gut.   
Slughorn began to pair them all off, happily mixing Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, until (of course) he and Potter are the last two left. If Draco could bang his head against the desk right now, he would, but all he can do is keep his head up as the whispers start around him. 

“Harry, my dear boy, looks like it’s you and Malfoy left.” Slughorn frowned, clearly he had not put much thought into these pairings, and he is visibly regretting it.   
Draco chances a glance at Potter, and their eyes meet. Surprisingly, the usually volatile Potter looks calm, his eyes are not giving away how he feels. 

“Sure, Professor.” Potter hoists his tattered bag onto his shoulder and begins to make his way to the back of the class, which hushes as he passes. There’s a moment of silence when Potter drops into the stool beside Draco, where everyone’s eyes are trained on the two of them. Draco says a silent prayer than he doesn’t look as terrified as he feels.

Slughorn looks like he’s having a mental debate with himself about whether or not to rejig the pairings, but eventually he seems to decide that there is no one else he could put with Draco, and instead coughs loudly, diverting the classes attention back to the top of the room. Draco breathes a sigh of relief, before remembering who is sitting beside him.

“Alright, class, you may collect your ingredients and begin to brew! Good luck to all.” Draco doesn’t move.

“So, ah, I er. I guess I’ll grab the ingredients?” In another life Draco would have happily mocked Potter’s nervous stuttering. In this life, Draco just casts a furtive glance at the boy and nods, before standing to prepare the cauldron.  
Potter gets up and moves off, and Draco hears the others flock around him, offering what seems to be condolences. He keeps his head down and tries to keep his face from burning.  
What in the name of Salazar was Slughorn thinking, forcing the class into pairs like this? Drace would have been just fine brewing on his own, and he was sure there were three Hufflepuffs who would love to team up as a three. Merlin, he and Potter were really going to have to interact if they had any chance of brewing a half-decent potion, and Draco would be damned if he handed up anything less than perfect, Potter or no Potter. He had never submitted a subpar piece of work in his life, and his grades would not be jeopardised by some bumbling Gryffindork.  
The Gryffindork who saved your life and is the reason you are not currently rotting in a cell in the middle of the ocean. 

Draco was so immersed in his panicked thoughts that Potter’s return made him jump.   
“You alright, Malfoy?”   
Draco cleared his throat, at a loss for what to say. Should he acknowledge the life debt? Ask the git how his summer went? Eventually, he decided on a jerky nod, pulling his textbook towards him and flicking to the right page.  
“I’ll start off chopping the Burnjak root.” Draco started, as Potter stared on gormlessly. 

“Eh… what should I do?” Potter asked sheepishly after a moment, and Draco looked up.  
Potter scratched the back of his head. “I’m a bit out of practice.”  
Draco blinked, but pushed the Gillyweed towards him. “Mince this, I guess. I usually like to have everything ready to go before I start brewing.”  
He half expected Potter to tell him to bugger off, but he just began mincing the weed (sloppily, Draco noted).

They continue to brew in silence, Draco occasionally issuing an instruction for Potter to follow. By the end of the class, miraculously, they’ve managed to brew a pretty good potion. Draco ladles a small amount into a vial and peers at it, faintly surprised that he and Potter managed this without the world ending. He glances at Potter, who raises his eyebrow at Draco, seeming similarly impressed. Draco nearly smiles at him but stops himself just in time. Just because they brewed a potion together, certainly does not put them on smiling terms.

They had plenty of time to clear up and begin their homework assignment before the class was over, and Draco tried not to think about how he felt strangely comforted in the presence of another person, who wasn’t actively trying to hurt him.

~

“So, how did it go?” Hermione appeared at Harry’s side the moment they exited the potions lab.   
Harry thought back to the last two hours. He and Malfoy had brewed a better potion that Harry had managed since sixth year when he had the Prince’s book. They hadn’t argued at all, although they hadn’t really spoke much either. 

Oddly enough, Harry had found the silence relaxing. It was the first bit of quiet time he’d gotten all day, without anyone constantly vying for his attention.  
“It was actually.. Okay. Our potion turned out good. He knows his stuff.”  
Hermione nodded knowingly.   
“Maybe Slughorn made the right choice pairing you two. To be perfectly honest, Harry, I think you’re the only person who wouldn’t kick up a fuss about having to pair with him.”  
“What do you mean?” Hermione glanced at him.  
“Surely you’ve noticed he’s been something of a target ever since we got back? People feel he represents the Death Eaters and everything they did. I suppose, in a way he does, but a lot of people consider him responsible for their loved ones being hurt or killed. It’s sort of strange seeing him not in charge for once, don’t you think?”  
Harry responded with a non-committal grunt. If he was honest, he hadn’t really noticed Malfoy at since the feast.  
“Maybe you should try talking to him during potions, Harry. It must be hard to be so alone here, especially since he’s so used to being with friends.

“Mm. Maybe.” Harry responded vaguely, silently hoping Hermione would drop it. He loved her and all, but sometimes she had strange ideas. Like, really, Harry would never get on with Malfoy, even if they could mange double potions without biting the heads off eachother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've read so much fanfic I would have thought I could write something a little better than this. Wow, guess this is a learning curvefor me. I'm having fun writing this though, so hopefully I can keep it up.  
> Thank you to the 4 people who left kudos on the first chapter, it surprised me a lot that anyone would bother, but it made me so happy so thank you so much!   
> Leave a comment and lemme know what you think, especially if you think I could improve on something.   
> Thanks again y'all. Peace


	3. Chapter 3

Draco swung his feet over the side of the bed and they hit the cold floor. Dark shapes twisted in the window. The dull pain in his arm was growing and his breathing became more ragged as he tried to grit his teeth to get through it. 

Something was crawling on his arm, burning it, deep down; Draco could feel it worming into his bone. 

The stench of burning silk reached his nostrils suddenly and he flinched. He felt his flesh burning, his pyjama shirt singed to his skin.  
He was retching with the pain now, yet still he couldn’t bring himself to look. He knew that feeling. A roar of pain ripped through him, his head jerking back, the tendons in his neck bulging. 

Look at me!

Draco’s eyes were forcefully dragged to his arm and he screamed. In pain, in regret, in horror, in terror.

The Dark Mark was a livid red on his arm, his flesh burning around it as it twisted and bulged, as raw and real as it had been the day he received it.

“No!” Draco wailed, this couldn’t be real, how could he be back? It was-

Draco’s breathing was out of control, the shapes moved in the window then suddenly, Draco sensed him, saw him, red eyes suddenly loomed out of the dark, flying towards him, come to kill him-

Draco jerked awake and sat up in bed so fast the blood rushed to his head, leaving him dizzy. 

“No! This- Help!” Hot tears streamed down his face, his sheets were twisted around his legs, the quilt in a heap on the floor; he must have been thrashing around in his sleep. He sobbed frantically, clawing at his arm, barely believing that the mark was pale grey and dormant as it had been since the battle. His cries rang out around the empty room.

It was several minutes before Draco realised his wand was buzzing frantically on the floor- his alarm charm was going off, and judging by the frequency of the buzzing, Draco had overslept.  
“Shit!”  
He cast a quick Tempus charm. “Oh bloody- shit!”   
He leapt out of bed, cursing. Class started in barely minutes. Oh God, he was panicking, he couldn’t be late to a class, it was a violation of his probation. He flung on his uniform and threw a couple cleaning and brushing charms at his hair and teeth, hoping they at least somewhat worked. He grabbed his bag and sprinted into the empty common room. Thank Salazar it was Potions first, which was in the dungeons, or he wouldn’t have a hope of making it in time.  
~

Slughorn had just stood to begin when the door burst open. The whole class jumped and turned to the door, where Malfoy stood. He seemed shocked to find himself there, and his face began to flush as he realised the entire class had their eyes trained on him. Even Slughorn seemed surprised. 

“Sorry, sir, I overslept.” Slughorn seemed to shake himself out of his reverie, and he gestured towards the back of the room.

“Never mind, old boy, we were only getting started!” Malfoy visibly wilted in relief, but the flush did not fade as he shut the door behind him and walked to the back of the room. Harry noticed his short, quick breaths as he sat down. Malfoy’s eyes darted around the room, never settling on any particular thing. Harry watched him in his peripherals, frowning. The class began but Harry could tell Malfoy was not paying a single iota of attention. His breathing had not slowed at all even though it had been several minutes since he sat down. His right hand had a vice-grip on his left forearm, and his nails were digging in so hard it looked like it hurt.   
Eventually, the practical portion of the class began, but Malfoy made no move to get up or begin brewing. Harry peered at him, at a complete loss.  
“Malfoy?” He began tentatively, as one would approaching a wild thing.  
Malfoy jerked round at met Harry’s eyes, and Harry’s breath caught in his throat. He recognised the look in Malfoy’s eyes; pure panic, fear. “Malfoy…” He said, more softly this time. Malfoy tore his gaze from Harry’s and his hand shot into the air. 

As soon as he was excused, Malfoy leapt out of his seat like a cat on a hot roof and bolted out the door. Harry met Slughorn’s eyes, who had come down to the back of the room to talk to Malfoy. He looked as bewildered as Harry felt.

“Harry, dear boy, perhaps you should check if Mr.Malfoy needs to visit Madame Pomfrey, he’s not looking to keen, is he?”  
Harry shook his head and got to his feet, following Draco out the door, thanking Merlin that most of the class seemed to be too engrossed in their potions to notice him following Malfoy.

By the time the door shut behind Harry Malfoy had disappeared, and Harry cursed. Where would a spooked Malfoy run to? Eventually Harry decided to try the nearest boy’s bathroom, which was a little way down the corridor on the left. He took off at a jog but slowed when he neared the bathroom, remembering the last time he had burst in on Malfoy unannounced it a bathroom. He edged open the door, ready to grab his wand if he had to. He didn’t expect to hear the sounds coming from within. 

It was Malfoy alright, but his breathing seemed almost inhuman, it was so ragged and fast. Harry pushed the door open slightly further and stepped into the bathroom. Malfoy had taken off his jumper and tie, which were lying in a heap beside him on the floor. His white shirt was drenched in sweat, and his head hung over the sink. It was almost like sixth year, although this time Harry didn’t feel suspicious or confrontational, just wary and, well, worried.   
Suddenly, Malfoy took a huge, ragged breath in, his body shaking with the effort. Tears poured down his flushed cheeks as he tried to regain control of his breathing. 

For several minutes, Harry stood behind Malfoy dumbly, watching him as he choked and spat out tears.

“Why, Potter,” Malfoy rasped eventually, “do you always seem to find me at my worst moments?”

Harry nearly laughed. “Eh, talent?”

Malfoy let out a surprised snort, and slowly turned to look at Harry. His face was still red, the flush spreading down his neck and onto his chest. His blonde hair was spiked and tangled, hanging around his face, which was covered in tears.

“Do you need to see Pomfrey?” Malfoy just turned back to the mirror.

“I’m fine. Just had a bad dream.”

Merlin, Harry thought, some bloody dream.

“Um. About what?”

“About what? Do you really want to know?” He sighed. He pushed up his shirt sleeve, revealing the Mark. Harry drew a sharp breath. “I dreamed about getting this. Well, the pain of it mostly. And I dreamed it was coming back. That he was coming back.” He looked up suddenly, meeting Harry’s eyes in the mirror, his eyes full of heat. 

“Malfoy. You didn’t want it, did you.” It didn’t come out like a question, more like a statement Harry hoped Malfoy could confirm.

“I don’t know if I wanted it or not. But I regretted it the moment it started. The moment I couldn’t go back. Not that I ever had a choice, really. As soon as he started sleeping in the Manor, we all knew it was only a matter of time. If it wasn’t me it would have been Mother.”

Harry felt the passion in his voice, and a lump rose in his throat at the thought of Malfoy taking the Mark so his mother wouldn’t have to. He watched on dumbly as Malfoy spelled his hair neat and washed his face, feeling somehow that something had shifted within him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope 2019 is a great year for you, whoever you are :))


	4. Chapter 4

The sudden sound of wings filled the Great Hall and Draco’s heart leapt in anticipation. The owls filled the hall, circling till they found who they were looking for, and then swooping down. He couldn’t help but grin when his beloved eagle owl, Tenebris, swooped down and landed beside Draco’s plate. He stroked Tenebris’s feathers, greeting him softly. Tenebris preened under Draco’s praise, twisting this way and that so that Draco could admire him from every angle. Draco chuckled fondly; he’d missed his owl.

He’d always been absurdly proud of Tenebris, he was easily the biggest and strongest owl in the hall, he was fast and reliable, and terribly loyal. He spent another few moments stroking the owl’s dark feathers before untying the bundle from his leg. 

“You can go up to the Owley, now, if you want. I’ll come see you later.” Tenebris hooted softly and blinked his large orange eyes, before gracefully taking off into the air. Draco turned his attention to the bundle, and ducked his head, overcome with emotion. He examined the four letters, recognising his mother’s perfect cursive, Pansy’s impatient all capital block letters, Blaise’s elegant scrawl and even Greg’s chicken scratch. He held them for a moment, feeling the love seeping through the paper and into him, reminding him that however alone he felt, he never really was. He tucked them carefully into his bag to read privately later, before pulling the last package towards him. He felt bittersweet as he unwrapped the chocolates, remembering how life had been before, when he would make a show of opening gifts from his parents, dramatically savouring the chocolates all by himself when he was annoyed at everyone, sharing them around when he was in a particularly good mood, or showing his favour by sharing with a particular person. 

That time of his life was over, he thought now as he opened the box, smiling slightly when he saw his favourite handmade chocolates from Devon. These chocolates had particular meaning to him, and he knew his mother was trying to remind him of that. When the Dark Lord had been living in the Manor, and the world felt confined to the Manor and keeping track of the Dark Lord and trying not to bump into him, it had never failed to amaze and inspire Draco when these chocolates would arrive at the Manor. It had seemed unreal to Draco that there was still people out there, living normal lives, working normal jobs like making these chocolates, unaffected by the cold terror that the Dark Lord brought with him. Every month, Draco would convince himself that the mail-order box would not arrive, that something had happened to the chocolatier, that the world outside the Manor had finally ended and all that was left was the Dark Lord and the pain around him.

Yet, every month, Draco would be proved wrong, and he’d feel like he could breathe again, for a few minutes, relief flooding him; all was not lost, life still went on. 

Now, he studied the chocolates for several moments, appreciating them, the craftship that went into them. He spent a long time selecting just the one he wanted, finally deciding on a dark chocolate moon shaped truffle. 

He was just closing the box when he felt a sudden presence beside him. “I remember those chocolates.”

Draco’s breath caught and he looked around slowly. Luna Lovegood had sat down beside him, staring at him curiously. Her dirty blonde hair was shorter than he remembered it, but still long enough to fall most of the way down her back. She had a Quibbler tucked under her arm and bright red earrings hanging from her ears. “Luna.” He choked out eventually; he had not spoken to her since he had found her on the morning after the battle. He had tried to apologise to her, then, to tell her he was glad she had made it out, but instead he had ended up sobbing on her shoulder while she rubbed his back softly.

“Remember, Draco,” she said in her dreamy voice. “The time you brought Mr.Ollivander and I some of those chocolates. It cheered us up a lot, you know. We cut them up into halves and saved them for as long as we could. That was very nice of you, Draco.” She reached out and touched his arm, her hand warm, her face kind. His eyes fluttered shut slightly at the touch; no one had touched him softly since he had hugged Mother before he left for school.

“I should have done more for you. I’m sorry.” Luna just smiled at his words.

“You did the best you could, Draco. I’ll never forget your kindness.” She frowned suddenly, waving her free hand in front of his face. “You’re covered in Wrackspurts!”

Draco blinked. “I’m covered in what?” 

“Wrackspurts.” Luna said as if it was the most obvious thing. “Invisible creatures which get inside your brain and muddle you up. A nice walk in the fresh air is the best thing for them. You should try that.”

He nodded dumbly as she stood to leave. “Wait!” He held out the chocolates to her. “Here. Enjoy them.” She smiled again, her face full of understanding. She took them gently, then smiled again before turning and skipping out of the hall.

~

“Where do you think he’s going, Hermione? ‘Mione?” Harry poked his friend blindly, his eyes not leaving the map.

“Oh, honestly Harry! I’m trying to study! And I don’t give a toss where Malfoy is going. You’ve been staring at that map for an hour, why don’t you just go and ask him?” Harry grinned sheepishly; he had been quite irritating for the last hour, constantly pestering Hermione as she tried to work.

“Ok, fine.” He started to get to his feet, stifling a laugh at Hermione’s horrified expression.  
“I didn’t mean actually follow him, Harry!” 

“I know.” He shrugged. “But what do I have to lose? Besides, it’s a nice day, I might pop down to Hagrids.”

She watched him go with a wary expression on her face.

Harry left the library and jumped down the steps two at a time, hurrying to the Entrance Hall. He stepped out into the September sunshine with a smile and a sigh of relief. He missed Ron’s company, he loved Hermione, but she spent all her free time in the library, if Ron was here he and Harry would be going flying every day, or swimming in the lake, or just sitting out in the sun.

He pulled out his map, searching for Malfoy’s dot. He spotted it eventually, walking along the edge of the lake. He set off at a jog, feeling the breeze lfit his hair and the fresh air fill his lungs.

After several minutes of jogging, Harry spotted a flash of white hair up above. He slowed to a fast walk; he didn’t want to creep up on Malfoy and frighten him. He rounded his approach, so that Malfoy would see him approaching.

When Harry was ten or so feet away, Malfoy looked up, startled and their eyes met. He forced a grin and a wave, which Draco responded to with a shocked frown. “Malfoy!”

“Potter.” Malfoy replied stiffly when Harry got close enough. Now that Harry had caught up with him, he realised his plan had not extended as far as this. 

“Er.. out for a walk?” Malfoy looked at him as though he’d gone mad, before nodding slowly.

“Ah. Nice. Good day for it.” Harry awkwardly fell into step beside the blonde. “I’m on my way to see Hagrid.”

“Hagrid? Isn’t his… house… over the other side of the grounds?” Malfoy asked incredulously, staring at Harry like he was an idiot.

“Eh. Well. Yeah, it is,” he chuckled awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. “Thought I’d take a bit of a detour. Hey! You should come with me!”

Malfoy stared. “Come with you? To Hagrid’s?”

“Sure,” Harry just shrugged, trying to decide if this was a good idea or not. It probably wasn’t, but what’s the worst that could happen. “Why not?”

He half expected Malfoy to laugh at him, or to point blank refuse, but to his surprise the boy did neither. He seemed to consider if for a moment then shrugged. “Why not indeed. Alright.”

“Alright!” Harry grinned, surprised and surprisingly excited, which he tried not to look much into. He turned on his heel and began marching towards Hagrid’s cabin before Malfoy could change his mind. They walked in silence, Harry glancing at Malfoy every so often, watching the breeze lift his hair, and the corner of his eyes wrinkle as he squinted in the sun.

When they reached Hadrid’s Malfoy slowed, and Harry turned to find him chewing his lip. “Are you sure this is a good idea, Potter? I’ve never exactly.. Got on with.. Hagrid.” 

Harry considered this, thinking of their history. “Hagrid doesn’t really hold grudges. You’ll be fine. Come on, I want a cup of tea.” He marched decidedly up to the front door, Malfoy trailing behind him. Before he could change his mind he knocked on the door. 

“Harry! It’s good ter see ye! Come in, come in! And er… Malfoy?” Hagrid glanced at Harry incredulously.

Harry just shrugged. “I invited him along. Is that okay?”

Hagrid looked at Malfoy for a moment before nodding, opening his door wider to let the two of them in. “I’ll jus’ pop on the kettle, then.”

Malfoy shot Harry a scared look but Harry just pushed him further inside, sitting down on one of Hagrid’s huge chairs, and beckoning Malfoy to do the same. He sat down and Harry had to stifle a laugh at the sight of his legs dangling over the edge.

“So,” Hagrid started, placing a teapot the size of a stock pot of the table. Malfoy stared at it. “How’s school bin?”

“Good!” Harry said enthusiastically, casting a lightening charm on the teapot before pouring himself a cup. “Bit weird without Ron though.”

Hagrid nodded in understanding. “Sent me a letter the other day, ‘e did. Seems he’s gettin’ on great at the Ministry. Lovin’ ih, ‘e said.” 

“Yeah,” Harry grinned back, watching Malfoy pour himself a gigantic cup of tea. “I’m glad he is.”

“‘Ow bout you, Malfoy?” Hagrid peered at Malfoy, who nearly dropped the teapot in surprise.

“Oh! Classes are good.” He nodded.

“Many Slytherins come back this year?” Hagrid placed a plate of rockbuns in the middle of the table, before sitting down heavily to peer at Malfoy.

“Oh. No, just me. A lot of the younger years didn’t return either.” Hagrid frowned and hummed.

“Tha’ tables lookin’ a bih empty all righ’. It’s a shame, tha is.” Malfoy just nodded, looking down. 

The three looked up as Fang appeared round the corner, lumbering towards the table, his drooping eyes looking up hopefully for food. To their surprise, the old dog went at sat right next to Malfoy.

Hagrid chuckled. “He likes you.”

“He does?” Malfoy asked, surprised.

“Yeh. Ah, bless, would ye look a’ tha’?” Fang had placed his heavy head on Malfoy’s lap, looking up at him. To Harry’s surprise, Malfoy smiled and reached down to scratch Fang’s large head.

“Usually takes ‘im a while to warm up to new folk. Do ye have a dog, Malfoy?”

Malfoy’s hand paused. “I did, there used to be a few in the Manor.”

“Oh? I though’ there was only peacocks?” Hagrid sounded surprised.

“No, there’s all sorts of magical creatures. We have a groundskeeper, actually, to look after them all. Of course, there’s not so many any more.”

“Wha’ happened?”

Harry noticed Malfoy’s hand shaking now as he rubbed Fang’s head slowly. His voice shook when he spoke again. “Well, the Dark Lord wasn’t a fan of most of them. Especially the dogs.”

The table was quiet then, the only sounds were Fang’s deep breaths, and then a sob broke the stillness. Hagrid was pulling out his great flowery handkerchief, big tears on his face. Malfoy stared at him wide eyed. Hagrid blew his nose loudly, pulling himself together. He peered at Malfoy with wet eyes. 

“Mus’ av been difficult ter see tha’. And ter see ev’rything else. And ih mus’ be real lonely in them Dungeons.” He sniffed. “You come down ‘ere anytime.”

Harry felt like a strange third wheel. He watched Malfoy scratch behind Fang’s ears, and when he spoke again, his voice was thick with emotion. “Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woah, it's a long one! If you enjoyed it, leave me a comment, I'd love to know your thoughts. Hope 2019 is going well for you, whoever you are.


	5. Chapter 5

Luna had started sitting next to Draco at mealtimes. It had shocked Draco at first, when she would sit down softly beside him, wearing her strange clothes and jewellery, always smelling of sweet tea and flowers and the earth. After several days of eating beside her, he began to grow used to her mellow presence. They didn’t talk much, mostly Luna would read her magazine or some strange book which often looked as though they’d been written several hundred years ago. Draco would do his homework or simply sit and eat, enjoying the company. Sometimes, Luna would lean across and point out an article to him, which Draco found amusing; Luna’s father found the strangest people to write for the Quibbler.

When Luna had started sitting next to him, Draco had presumed that she was doing it out of charity for him, that she sensed his loneliness, and pitied him. After a few weeks, Draco came to the realisation that she wanted to sit next to him. Apart from mealtimes and the odd time when she would talk to Potter or one of his friends, Luna seemed to be alone as often as he did. 

Surprisingly, they seemed to get on well. When they did talk, Draco often found himself grinning at her strange comments. He appreciated her frankness, the way she talked openly, never trying to make her intentions unclear. Draco learned that she was much smarter than he’d ever given her credit for; she was top in almost all of her classes. Although that shouldn’t have surprised him so much, she was a Ravenclaw afterall. 

Most of all, he admired her strength. He found he had a deep respect for her. She’d lost her mother at such a young age, yet her heart had never hardened. She’d been teased and bullied for years, and Draco felt deeply ashamed that he had often partaken in that teasing, yet she was still good hearted and kind, she let comments roll off her like they were nothing. She had been locked in a dungeon for months, and somehow she had made it through that without going mad, and Draco knew that she had often given her meagre share of their food to Ollivander.

Since his strang excursion with Potter, Draco had visited Hagrid once a week. He’d debated for days about whether or not to accept the groundskeeper’s invitation, but finally he had decided he had nothing to lose from returning. Besides, he liked his dog. The first visit had been strange, but surprisingly, not awkward. Draco, who was already taking six NEWTs, had not been able to take Care of Magical Creatures, so sometimes Hagrid would show him the creatures the class was studying that week, sometimes they would talk about school and have tea, occasionally touching on the subject of the war. Draco never stayed long, only thirty minutes or so, but he found himself looking forward to Saturday mornings when he would take the peaceful walk through the grounds to Hagrid’s cabin.

He had fallen into a comforting routine, and he found that, between eating with Luna, writing to his friends and his weekly trip to Hagrid’s, he wasn’t feeling nearly as lonely as he had at the start of the year, or even throughout the summer, although he missed his mother dearly. Draco had always valued routines. He had a morning ritual to get ready, a routine in the evenings before bed; his whole life was ordered and anchored by little routines that helped him stay sane. Even during the darkest times last year, he had hung on to his little rituals to keep himself grounded. 

He had started sleeping in Vincent’s bed at night. He woke screaming most nights, shaking and writhing from the nightmares, which varied widely from night to night, although the most commonly featured figures were Dumbledore, falling backwards out of the tower, and Nagini, the Dark Lord’s snake, chasing Draco as he ran through the Manor.

Thankfully, he had had no more embarrassing meltdowns in class, but ever since his panic attack in the bathrooms, he often looked up to find Potter staring at him; across the Great Hall during mealtimes, or slantways in Potions. It unnerved Draco, even though the looks were never hostile.

He was staring at Draco now, he could sense those green eyes boring into him as he ate. Luna was sat beside him as usual, doing some sort of quiz in her magazine, which she had propped up with a jug of pumpkin juice and the edge of her plate. 

“He’s quite an obvious starer, isn’t he?” she mused dreamily, her fork floating halfway to her mouth. “Although I suppose he thinks he’s being very subtle.”

Draco glanced up and caught Potter’s eye briefly, before he jerked away like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. Draco stabbed a roast potato irritably. “Why is he always staring at me? I feel like I’m back in bloody sixth year. Does he think I’m doing something wrong?”

Luna shook her head thoughtfully. “I think he’s simply seeing you for the first time.” Draco opened his mouth to ask what the bloody hell that meant, but the dishes of pudding had appeared suddenly at the table, and he lost Luna to her sweet tooth.

~

“He’s off to the owlery again.”

“Hmm.”

“Do you think he’s sending a letter?”

“Maybe.”

“Or just visiting his owl?”

“Hard to say.”

“Do you think that owl is his or just his families?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

“Trust Malfoy to have an owl like that. His owl is snooty.”

“Harry! Honestly! Please stop talking about Malfoy!”

Harry huffed, folding his arms, before unfolding them again and grabbing the map as he saw Malfoy’s dot move. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Look,” she said, rooting around in her bag and pulling out a letter. “I was going to send this to Ron this evening. If you’re not doing any homework, why don’t you go and send it for me?”

Harry grabbed the letter and jumped to his feet. “Sure, I guess I could do that. See you later!” He practically ran past her, and thought he might have heard her mutter “boys” under her breath.

Harry legged it out of the Common Room, nearly falling flat on his face as he scrambled out of the portrait hole, ignoring the Fat Lady’s indignant huff. He bounded up the several flights of stairs towards the Owlery, taking the steps two at a time. When he finally reached the last flight of steps that led up to the cold, windy Owlery, he was out of breath, but ran up the last flight anyway, his heart pounding. His steps rang out in the air and his breath curled in puffs of steam in front of him. He reached the top and stopped suddenly, panting. His eyes locked with Malfoy’s, who was standing at the other end of the Owlery, wrapped in a giant grey scarf and thick black cloak, his white hair lifting in the breeze, his nose and ears pink from the cold. Harry’s breath caught in his mouth, despite the fact that just a few moments before he had been gasping for air.

Malfoy’s eyes were the palest grey, and even from ten feet away Harry could see how bright they were. The moment dragged on, the only sounds were the wind howling, the occasional hoot of an owl and Harry’s laboured breathing. “Potter,” Malfoy eventually spoke. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

Harry looked down, surprised to find he was wearing only a tshirt. On cue, he shivered violently, and grinned sheepishly. “I was in a rush. I, er,” he waved Hermione’s letter in the air. “Have to send this for Hermione.”

“And it was so urgent you ran?”

“Um. Yes?” Harry started walking forward, he was shivering now. He went to a random Hogwarts owl and started to attach Hermione’s letter to it’s spindly legs. “What are you doing here?”

“Having dinner with the Minister.” Harry looked around in shock before realising that Malfoy was joking, and then feeling very stupid. He let out a surprised laugh. 

“Ah, of course. Say hi to Kingsley for me, won’t you?” Malfoy had attached his letter to his owl’s leg, who had hoped elegantly onto his shoulder, staring down at Harry with unblinking orange eyes. The whole effect of the huge eagle owl looming over Harry, the darkness of it’s feathers contrasting with Malfoy’s pale skin and hair, was slightly unnerving. It looked like Malfoy had some sort of dark guardian looking over him, which was a strangely comforting thought. He shivered again deeply.

“Potter.” Malfoy frowned deeply. “You really are going to catch a cold.” Harry just shrugged, mesmerised by the image of Malfoy and his owl. “Here.” Malfoy said, his voice low, taking a step towards Harry. He held out his wand, his hand was shaking slightly. Harry felt a sudden warmth wash over him, and he could feel Malfoy’s magical signature wrap around him. Harry stared, he could no longer feel the cold, but his arms were covered in goosebumps. 

“Why did you run here?” Malfoy’s voice was quiet, and even though he was standing several feet away, Harry thought he could feel his breath on his skin. His whole world seemed to be swimming in Malfoy’s grey eyes.

“To see you.” He heard Malfoy’s sharp intake of breath, and he turned away suddenly, walking to the edge of the gallery, where his owl hooted softly before taking off nimbly. Malfoy turned back slowly, and his eyes were wide now. Harry took a step forward, drawn inexplicably towards the boy. The wind lifted his hair again. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Malfoy gasped shakily, tearing his eyes from Harry’s before bolting past him and running down the stairs. His warming charm failed and Harry was left on his own in the cold, surrounded by owls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really enjoying writing this! I hope you're enjoying reading it :) I'd love to know what you think (good or bad) in the comments.


	6. Chapter 6

The fire was crackling merrilly in the hearth, the sounds of the embers popping and the flames burning filling the cosy Common Room. It was only mid October, but Halloween decorations had already begun to infiltrate the tower as students grew excited for the festivities. Harry was lying on his favourite couch, close to the fire. His eyes were closed but he was awake, listening to the sounds of the fire and the comforting sounds of chatter around the room. Hermione’s quill was scratching on the parchment she was writing on where she was sat, curled up in an armchair to Harry’s right, Crookshanks purring softly in her lap. The whole effect was rather relaxing, and Harry felt as though he could drift off to sleep like this, the warmth of the fire better than any blanket. 

As he let himself sink even further into relaxation, his mind began to drift. As usual, it eventually arrived on a certain blonde Slytherin. He was beginning to annoy himself almost as much as he was annoying Hermione with his strange obsession over Draco. He felt like he was back in sixth year, the only difference being that this time round he had no reason to suspect Draco was up to something devious. In fact, his… obsession was more tender in nature, he felt strangely protective over him. He studied Draco’s face when he hoped the other boy was not aware of him, engrossed by the small details, the way he bit his lip, hard, while he was concentrating, how his eyebrow twitched slightly when someone opened a window or cast a cooling charm- Harry had learnt he didn’t like the cold. 

Often, even when he was not thinking of him, an image of Draco’s tear stained face, eyes wide in terror would flicker into Harry’s head, and his heart would clench in his chest. He was haunted by that terrified boy, who looked so unaware of the world, like he was reliving in his mind every horrifying thing that had happened to him, like he couldn’t escape the past.

Softer images, too, would often drift into Harry’s thoughts, the small smiles Draco sometimes gave him when he did something well when they were brewing, his careful hand stroking his owl at breakfast times, the look of genuine interest on his face when Luna showed him articles from the Quibbler, which must be laughable and ridiculous, but Draco read them seriously, holding the magazine close to his face as he ate, like it was the most interesting thing he had ever read. Draco, leaning over the balcony in the Owlery, the wind whipping around him, Draco telling him with concern that he was going to catch a cold.

He was so far from the loud and obnoxious boy Harry had thought he knew when they were younger, closer to the Draco of sixth year, but so much softer, less prickly round the edges. This Draco was finding himself, learning to be his own person, whether he realised he was doing it or not. He was separating himself from his father’s values, and he had ceased to be ‘Malfoy’ to Harry, because somehow, he was more than that now.

The scratch of Hermione’s quill had stopped, Harry realised languidly. How long ago had that happened? He must have dozed off, the fire was quieter now, the Common Room darker, and there were less voices around. Crookshanks gave a loud meow and Harry opened his eyes properly- the cat looked straight back at him. Hermione had her head in her hands. She was crying, Harry suddenly saw. He sat up slowly, leaning forward and touching her elbow softly. When she looked up at him, here eyes sparkled with tears.

“Oh Harry, I’m sorry, did I wake you?” He shook his head with a soft smile, moving his hand to rub her back slowly. She let out a loud sniff. They sat like that for a while, Hermione sniffing and wiping her tears, Harry rubbing slow circles on her back, in a way he hoped was comforting. 

“It’s a lot quieter here without Ron, isn’t it?” She said eventually, her voice sad. “I didn’t realise how different it would be without him.” He nodded and hummed in agreement. She was right, Hogwarts was strange without Ron. He was lonely, he supposed. Sure, he had loads of friends here, and Hermione of course, who was more like family that just a friend, but no one was quite like Ron, who he could joke with and mess around, who he felt safe with, comforted by the loyalty and familiarity between them.

“It’s silly, but I can’t help but feel like he’s getting on just fine without us. He’s getting on so well, and I feel so proud of him. And I know, it was my choice to come back to Hogwarts, and I don’t regret it at all, but sometimes I feel… I feel like I’m being left behind a bit, I suppose. Like by the time I’m finished my exams Ron will be out working and living his brand new life and what if… what if he doesn’t want me anymore, Harry? When he sees what’s out there?” Her voice was small and her eyes were bright, and she looked up at him now, looking more scared and unsure than he’d ever seen her. His heart ached as he looked into her bright face, and he was angry at himself for not having noticed that she was hurting.

“Hermione… that’s never going to happen.” He shook his head, incredulous. “Ron loves you more than anything. Do you know what he writes to me about, every couple of days?” She blinked, shaking her head. “You! Asking how you are, telling me about things he sees that reminds him of you. How he’s saving up his wages, even though it’s hardly anything yet, so that when you’re finished school he’ll be able to put down a deposit for a flat wherever you want to go!” He didn’t mention how he talked about marrying her one day, when he could afford a nice ring and had a good life to offer her. That was for Hermione to find out herself. 

“Ron’s not leaving you behind Hermione,” he said into her hair as she sobbed into his chest now. He felt her pain of missing Ron, and that pain leached into him, bittersweet, happiness as he thought of the lives Ron and Hermione had waiting for them, and loneliness as he realised that they would always be a trio, but he would now be on the outside, just a little, forever.

Hot tears fell down Harry’s face now too, as his heart swelled with love for his friends and the crushing relief that they had made it.

“He’s waiting for you.”

~

“Well, today I thought today we’d start a fun little project!” Slughorn’s voice boomed jovially across the room as he rocked on the balls of his feet, his face merry. “Now as I’m sure you’re all aware, Hallowe’en is fast approaching! What you may not be aware of however, is the handy little potion that we use here at Hogwarts every year on the Pumpkins in that Hall! Many assume that they stay so fresh and juicy for weeks through charmwork, but no! In fact,” Slughorn paused, grinning around at the class for dramatic effect. 

“At the start of every Hallowe’en season we spritz our lovely pumpkins which Hagrid grows so well during the year, with a dash of cucurbita recentibus a pumpkin keep fresh potion! It takes about a week to brew, and it’s not a tricky potion, but does require technical skills. So I thought I’d make this a nice little challenge for you all this festive season! Now, of course you’ll be working in your pairs, and remember, this will count towards your midterm grade! If you have any questions, feel free to ask!”

He clapped his chubby hands together and instructions appeared on each desk, along with a pile of initial ingredients. The class began to bustle around the room, chatting excitedly and examining the instructions. “Right.” Harry cleared his throat, his voice choked. “Um.”

Draco’s mouth twitched out of the corner of his eye. Harry grinned bashfully, pulling the instructions towards them and reading the first few lines, then reading them again when nothing seemed to go in. “Em.” He heard a small noise and looked around, realising with a jolt that Draco was laughing at him.

“Eloquent as always, Potter.” Harry’s face turned red but he grinned, pushing the sheet towards Draco. 

“Fine. You read it then.”

Draco took the sheet with a smile and began skimming the page, a thoughtful look on his delicate features. Harry’s heart beat quickly. Draco hummed earnestly, one finger tapping against the desk. “Doesn’t seem too hard, it’s just a bit fiddly. It does take a while to brew, so we’d better get a move on if we want it to be ready before the end of class.”

“Aye, captain.” Harry nodded cheerfully, his stomach squeezing when Draco responded to this with an amused glance. They fall into their regular routine, Draco preparing the cauldron and preparing the initial ingredients as Harry collects the rest of the ingredients they will need. Draco works methodically and efficiently, instructing Harry as he goes. Before long their cauldron is bubbling, a bright orange colour that Slughorn examines with an impressed look on his face. 

Draco stands watch over their simmering cauldron, stirring it at the correct intervals for a long time, before he nods, apparently satisfied, then turns to sit down. Then it’s just the two of them, sitting beside each other, with nothing more to do. So they sat, the silence growing slightly awkward as the minutes went on. Harry wracked his brains for something to say. Everything that came to mind seemed stupid, or it seemed like a great idea until he thought about it some more and it began to sound stupid. Oh God, he was sweating. Why was he sweating? He tried to subtly wipe his damp hands on his robes but found to his horror that they left dark marks on the fabric. He was trying to shift his robe to hide this fact when Draco gave a polite little cough.

“Potter, are you ok?”

“Um. Yeah. Are you?” Harry rolled his eyes inwardly. Why had he suddenly lost the ability to talk like a normal person? He could defeat a Dark Lord, but one encounter with Draco Malfoy in a cold and blustery Owlery had him tongue tied now every time he saw the fucker.

“Yes, Potter. Class is nearly over, shall I levitate this to the side benches or will you?” Harry looked up to realise that class was, indeed, nearly over, and his classmates were busy moving their cauldrons to the benches at the side of the room where they would bubble in peace until their next class. His hands were still sweating, and he couldn’t trust himself right now to successfully levitate the damn thing without spilling it.

“Em, can you?” Draco just nodded, raising his wand and carefully levitating the hot cauldron to the side of the room. Harry definitely didn’t watch the muscles in Draco’s arm strain as he did so. As Draco returned to the bench, the rest of the class began to file out of the room until Harry was left beside Draco, shoving things into his bag, painfully aware that they were the last two left. Finally, he yanked his bag shut and turned towards Draco to say something, anything but the blonde was already at the door, and without a backwards glance, he disappeared into the corridor, leaving nothing behind him but a puff of air from the swish of his cloak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor wee Harry. He doesn't quite understand all his feelings yet. And my lovely Draco, just learning to find himself. I just love these characters so much, and no matter how many years pass, I just seem to fall more and more in love with them everytime I read or write about them. They really are the most classic ship. I'm having so much fun writing this, and it's proving to be a lovely break from studying for my exams (boo). I hope you're enjoying reading this, even though it'snot the best :/  
> I hope you're having a lovely day, wherever you are.


	7. Chapter 7

“Before you all rush off, I must take the great pleasure in announcing the winners of our little cucurbita recentibus brewing competition! I’m afraid no other group came nearly as close to the perfect brew as this dynamic duo did!” As this Slughorn added a little wink to his speech and clapped his hands together. The class looked on in interest; there was nothing like a competition to bring out friendly competitive spirit.

“So congratulations, Harry and Draco!” Harry blinked in surprise, he hadn’t been expecting that. In the corner of his vision Hermione deflated a little, looking put out. The class clapped politely, and Harry felt his neck heat up under their gaze. They lost interest pretty quickly and began to pack away, shoving quills and parchment into bags as they chatted about what they hoped would be served for dinner tonight. 

Harry was just about to chance a glance at Draco when Slughorn suddenly appeared by his side. “Harry, my boy!”

“Er, hi Professor. Thanks for that, by the way.” Slughorn waved his hand and leaned in to Harry, his pale eyes glittering. 

“Harry, I’ve been thinking of starting up my little Slug Club again, just a select group of students, you know how I like my little dinner parties. I’ve decided to have a little get together this Friday, the night before the feast. What do you say, old boy?” Harry could think of several hundred things he would rather do this Friday, but peering into the old Professor’s worn eyes, he found he couldn’t say no. Harry was by no means Slughorn’s biggest fan, but he believed the man truly had no bad in him, perhaps just a little selfishness, but then again, he was a Slytherin.

He nodded and Slughorn beamed, straightening up to clap Harry on the shoulder. He seemed to notice Draco, who had just zipped up his bag and looked ready to leg it out of the room. “MR Malfoy,” Slughorn’s voice made Draco pause and turn. “You’ll come too won’t you? Just a little get together now, a few select students.”

This seemed to catch Draco off guard, because he glanced at Harry, his eyes wide. Harry just shrugged. “Oh. Yes, thank you Professor, I’d be delighted.” Slughorn just beamed at them again, then began to slowly lumber his way towards his quarters. He turned back just as Harry and Draco had reached the door.

“Bring dates, won’t you? We can make a little party of it.” Harry glanced at Draco, who looked pretty much how Harry felt, like he was filling with dread already at the thought of trying to find a date.

~

“Hermione,” Harry moaned, poking her in the side with his big toe from his position lying on his favourite fireside couch. “Who the bloody hell am I going to bring to the Slug Club party?”

Hermione pushed his foot away with a laugh, looking up from the parchment she had spread all over the rug in front of her. “Harry. There are hundreds of girls in this school who would give an arm or a leg to go to Slughorn’s party with you. I’m sure you can find someone.”

A sudden unbidden image of Draco, with long blonde curls and batted eyelashes flashed into his head. He shook his head at the bizarre thought. “But they all… look at me funny.” He said with a shudder. “I just want someone who treats me like a normal person, is that too much to ask?”

Hermione patted his ankle comfortingly. “Well… there is always-”

“Don’t say it.”

“Ginny.” Harry grunted and shoved his head in his pillow. 

“You really need to talk to her Harry. Perhaps the party would be the perfect place?” Harry grunted again, but he knew she was probably right. He had been avoiding Ginny since they arrived back to Hogwarts, after an awkward kiss in the Burrow that made him sweat nervously everytime he thought about it. He was sweating now. He was pretty sure that she was avoiding him too; if she wanted to see him she would have sought him out at this point.

“You have to clear the air with her at least, you know. Hogsmeade weekend is to week after Halloween, you know. Ron will be there, and so will Ginny. If you two still aren’t talking things might get awkward. And I really don’t want any tension the first time I see my boyfriend in two months.” 

He sighed, his mind made up. He resigned himself to finding Ginny and talking to her before the night was out.

~

As it happened, Harry did not have to wait long to see Ginny. He was getting up to head to dinner when Ginny’s flaming red hair appeared around the portrait, and a moment later all of Ginny was hurrying into the Common Room. Their eyes met and she seemed to sigh, approaching him slowly. 

“I know that look.” She said quietly when she was close enough. “You’ve something to say, but you don’t know how to say it.”

He smiled despite himself, realising he had missed talking to her. “Eh, yeah. I do.” She watched him patiently, clearly with no intentions of helping him spit it out. “So. Slughorn’s having a party. I’m to bring a plus one. And I think you’re the only girl in the school who doesn’t look at me like the sun shines out of my arse. And, eh. Well. I miss you Gin.”  
When she smiled, it was a sad smile. She reached out and touched his elbow nonetheless. “I guess I’ve always just known who you really are, Harry. I’ll go with you.” She was looking at him intensely now, her eyes burning. “It’s really over isn’t it? For good.” Her voice was steady, and she did not look upset, just wistful.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Gin.” She just shook her head. 

“I think I’ve known that for a very long time too Harry.” She paused, her eyes bright and full of passion, reminding Harry of just how brilliant she was. “Everyone has always told me how perfect we’d be together, but deep down I always knew we weren’t at all. I love you, Harry, and I always have. But, it was never in the way I thought I was supposed to.” It was now that her eyes filled with tears. “Can we be friends again, Harry? I miss you too.”

A weight had lifted off Harry’s shoulders, and when he hugged her he felt hot tears on his cheeks, she smelled like flowers and the wind, freedom and home. 

When they parted eventually, both of them crying, they just laughed at each other and hugged again. They hadn’t said much, but that was what was so brilliant about Ginny, things were never complicated with her.

They walked to dinner together, hand in hand, laughing all the way, and Harry’s happiness lasted all the way to the Great Hall, till he glanced at the Slytherin table and met Draco’s eyes, which were full of hurt and something unreadable, as he sat stock still, his fork halfway to his mouth, surrounded by empty seats.

~

Friday came far too quickly for Harry’s liking. Before he knew it he was standing in front of the dorm mirror pulling at his ‘nice’ robes. Ginny had convinced him to dress up, despite his reluctance. He stomped down the stairs to the Common Room, where he found Ginny waiting for him, her legs crossed as she lounged on a couch, half the boys in the Common Room ogling her. She was wearing a simple black dress that fell just above her knees, and her hair was loose and flowing around her face. She met Harry’s eyes and grinned, which he returned with a pang in his heart, of longing for what could have been. 

She stood and walked to him, and kissing his cheek and taking his arm. Suddenly he didn’t care if he was overdressed, or if he looked ridiculous in his fancy robes, with Ginny beside him, shining like a goddess, he felt he could have walked confidently into any room.

“You know, I understand why everyone always said we were the perfect couple.” Ginny began as soon as they had climbed through the portrait hole. “I mean look at us, think of the stunning babies we would have.” He laughed out loud and she grinned mischievously, squeezing his arm. When they stopped laughing she stepped out in front of his, forcing him to look into her bright eyes, which were so like Ron’s. 

“Harry, I want you to know that I love and support you no matter what, okay? And I know, Harry, I know. You can talk to me, okay?” She was gazing at him with such intensity, full of the burning passion that he loved about her.

“Um. Thanks Gin. You know I feel the same about you. But, eh. What do you know exactly?”

She just grinned and ignored his question, falling back into step with him.

~

They reached Slughorn’s quarters a little late, and they seemed to be the last to arrive. Slughorn greeted the pair of them enthusiastically, pouring them glasses of non alcoholic sparkling elven wine. Harry pulled at the neck of his robes, it was hot in here with all these people, and from the flames glowing from within the numerous pumpkins which decorated the room.

Harry was glad they had dressed up, because this was not a ‘little get together’ like Harry had been led to believe. There was at least forty or so people wandering around, less than a dozen or whom were students. A gramophone in the corner filled the room with tinkly dancing music, and several couples were twirling on a makeshift dance floor. Trays of petit-fours and glasses of champagne floated around the room.

Ginny, to her credit, stuck to his side, chatting to him and occasionally saying hello to other guests, and he happily let her take the lead on all the conversations. He let her chat, chiming in when he was needed, but otherwise let his gaze roam around the room, searching for a particular Slytherin.

He spotted Luna before he saw Draco. She looked, well, rather beautiful, in a deep purple dress which fell simply to the ground, her shoulders covered by a silk purple shawl. Her long blonde hair tumbled down her back, a strand from either side held back in a clip that appeared to be decorated with radishes. As Harry watched, she raised herself onto her tiptoes to whisper something in her date’s ear, and with a shock, Harry realised the arm she was holding belonged to Draco Malfoy.

Harry’s heartbeat suddenly seemed to be beating very loudly in his head. Draco was wearing light purple dress robes that complemented Luna’s dress. The pale colour made his grey eyes look darker. He looked… soft. Harry had never seen the blonde in a colour that wasn’t black before. It suited him.

Luna finished whispering in Draco’s ear and drew back with a grin on her face as Draco tipped back his head and let out an honest to Merlin laugh. His pale throat stretched as Harry watched, his adams apple bobbing up and down. Something in Harry’s stomach stirred; a creature raising it’s head with a growl. 

A sharp elbow to his stomach broke him out of his thoughts. “Harry,” Ginny hissed at him. “Stop staring.”

He dragged his gaze away from Draco, but not before the boy looked over, and their eyes met for a split second. The creature growled. Ginny was staring at him, her eyes wide. “Oh, Harry.”

As Harry tried to figure out what was concerning her, Slughorn suddenly appeared at their sides again, greeting them jovially. Harry could barely hear him. Was Draco with Luna? When had that happened? They were an attractive couple. The creature breathed fire. They would have little blonde children. Draco and Luna? Harry couldn’t have imagined a more unlikely couple.

“Ginny, my dear,” Slughorn was saying as Harry desperately tried to tune back into the conversation, realising he was probably looking gormless. “I’d like you to meet an ex student of mine, I’m sure you’ve heard of Gwenog Jones?” Ginny gasped and took Slughorn’s arm as he drew her away, Harry forgotten. He was left alone, holding his wine glass too tight, sweating in his fancy robes.

“Potter. Abandoned by your girlfriend?” Draco’s drawling voice made Harry clutch his glass tighter. His knuckles were turning white. He tried very hard to breathe; he seemed to have forgotten how.

“Potter?” Draco’s voice again. Harry wasn’t quite sure if he could turn around and look Draco in the eye. 

“Come on Draco, Harry doesn’t want to talk to us right now. He needs a minute to shake those nargles away. I wonder if there’s any pudding?” Harry felt rather than saw the pair of them moving away from behind him. They seemed happy together. The sound of a glass shattering made Harry jump and look around, searching for the source. 

“Mr Potter!” A witch Harry did not recognise scuttered towards him. “Are you alright? Your hand is bleeding!” Harry looked down at his hand to find with a shock that it was, in fact, bleeding. He had shattered his wine glass.

“Oh. Eh. Yes, sorry, I’ll just clean this up, sorry about the mess…” He waved his wand and the glass and wine disappeared. He ran his non-bleeding hand through his hair, determined not to acknowledge the stares from the other party goers. His hand really was bleeding quite heavily, and he thought he felt a shard of glass in there. He should go to the infirmary, he thought vaguely. He turned blindly, heading in the direction of the door. When he got outside the cold of the dungeons hit him, contrasting with the heat from the party. He looked at his hand and swore, a piece of glass poked out of his palm. He began to head in the direction of the infirmary, not trusting himself to pull the glass out, when he heard Slughorn’s door slam open. He turned to see Draco standing there, panting slightly.

“Draco.”

“Potter. Give me your hand.” Harry held it out, blood dripping onto the stone floor. “What the fuck did you do?” Harry shrugged, he could not think of anything except for Draco’s cold hands which were now holding his bleeding one gingerly. They were surprisingly rough, Harry thought vaguely, he would have always expected Draco to have soft hands, unused to physical work. Draco was waving his wand over Harry’s hand and Harry winced as he felt the shard of glass pull itself out of his skin. When he looked back down, his hand was perfectly healed. He flexed it softly, impressed.

“Wow. Where’d you learn to do that?” Draco dropped his hand suddenly and stepped back, his face cold. 

“Clean up that blood, Potter, you’ve made a mess.” He snapped at Harry, turning back around with a swish of lilac cloak. Harry frowned and stepped forward, grabbing his arm.

“Wait, Draco. I, er, thank you.” Draco’s face stayed cold, but he didn’t pull away. Harry could smell his cologne. It smelled sweet. They were rather close together. The creature purred.

“We should go back inside.” Draco all but whispered. His breath ghosted over Harry’s skin. Harry just nodded. He didn’t move. “Come on, Potter. What’s up with you?” Harry let go, stepping back. 

“Will you… tell Gin I had to go? I… have to go.”

Draco stood and watched the other boy walk away, until he’d long disappeared and the feeling of his warm hand had faded from his arm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 500 views? That is pretty crazy, thank you to anyone who's read this far!  
> Poor confused Harry... maybe things will start to clear up for him soon.  
> Does anyone know why my italics disappear when I move text from google docs to this site? I've just realised that they're not showing up!


	8. Chapter 8

It was late when Harry heard Ginny tip toe into the common room. He had waited up to see her in, feeling terribly guilty for abandoning her so early in the night. Her shoes were floating behind her, diligently following her as she crept further into the room.

“Good night?” She jumped a little, but when she saw him her face broke out into a wide smile.

“Oh Harry! I’m so happy, Gwen is just so cool! She told me to call her Gwen! She told me all about the Holyhead Harpies, and they just sound so cool. She said she was just like me when she was at Hogwarts, loved Quidditch but never thought about a career until she was scouted! And, oh, oh, oh, guess what! In a few months a scout is coming to watch the Cup final here at Hogwarts! Gryffindor just have to be in the final, imagine I got scouted-” 

Harry grinned and sat back, relieved she was not upset with him for leaving so early, in fact he strongly suspected that she had not noticed at all. After a long time her chatter ebbed and he pulled her into a bear hug. “Any team would be lucky to have you, Gin.”

They stayed there for a long time, chatting about Gwenog Jones and Quidditch and life after school. Ginny’s shoes floated slowly to the ground as the charm faded, and it wasn’t till they hit the ground with a dull thud that the pair realised how late it was, and parted ways to climb the tower to their dorms.

Late though it was, Harry did not sleep. Instead he lay awake, listening to Neville’s squeaky snores and Dean’s deep breathing. Not for the first time, he felt the absence of Ron’s rumbling snores acutely. He was so used to them by now that rather than deterring his sleep, they acted like a strange lullaby, reminding him he was safe with their rhythmic rumbles. 

He huffed and rolled over, telling himself he was being silly. Maybe he just missed the company, Ron’s snoring at least reminded him that he wasn’t alone, he had a friend within a few paces. Without the noise, it was easy to feel the ominous feeling that he was back in Perkin’s musty tent, or worse, the cupboard under the stairs. 

He shook his head and punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape. Images of Draco in his lilac robes flashed behind Harry’s eyelids. His exposed throat as he laughed, the white blonde hair that was long enough that he had to constantly push it back, but too short to stay tucked behind his ears. Those long and nimble fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass, the simple act oozing with elegance in a way Harry could never hope to replicate. How soft those silken dress robes looked, how they might slide under Harry’s hand if he was to touch Draco’s arm, his shoulder, his back. How those wide shoulders and slim waist would feel under Harry’s touch. 

Harry wondered how a hard chest would feel pressed against his, so different from the soft curves of Ginny’s breasts, like he was used to, like he had never quite felt comfortable with. He touched his own chest, feeling it’s hardness under his thin pyjama top. He could feel his own coarse chest hair through the thin material, and wondered if Draco’s chest was hairy, and whether or not that hair was as fair as the hair on his head. His breathing hitched slightly, picturing the other man’s body; and he felt hot and ashamed for doing so, especially as these thoughts were interspersed with memories of Draco bent over the sink in the Dungeons, shoulders shuddering as he tried to gain control of his breathing, his shirt ripped open at the neck. These thoughts, of course, reminded him of sixth year, when such a similar situation had ended with Draco’s blood spreading across the bathroom floor, shockingly red on the white tiles. Harry felt sick with himself.

He rubbed his fists into his eyes, hard, wanting to mask his visions with kaleidoscope colours.

It was several hours before his heart became less constricted, and his last thought before he fell into a fitful sleep was that it was Hallowe’en, the anniversary of his parents death.

~

Hallowe’en fell on a Saturday, so there were no classes, and therefore no reason for Harry to get out of bed. The others slept in, woke up and left, leaving him be behind his tightly drawn curtains. Harry felt a pang as both Neville and Dean left the room, appreciating that they left him be, but feeling lonely at the knowledge that Ron was not there to yank him out of bed.

The Common Room was fairly noisy all day, and Harry put his head under his pillow in an attempt to drown out their happy voices and laughter. Didn’t they know what had happened on this day, sixteen years ago? 

It was only when his legs began to cramp up from lying in bed for so long that Harry decided he should maybe get up. He summoned clothes from his trunk, not wanting to leave the comforting confines of the drapes around his bed just yet. He dressed in bed and climbed out of bed only to immediately pull on his cloak; he didn’t want the world to see him today. 

It was lunchtime already, so the Hall would be packed with food, but Harry had no appetite. He decided that a solitary walk in the grounds was all he felt up for today. He set off through the castle, heading outside. It was cold out, and when he got outside he wasn’t surprised to see that no one else appeared to have braved the weather. He breathed a sigh of relief, and his breath formed a warm cloud of condensation before him in the freezing air. 

The October wind howled bitterly around the castle, and Harry decided to tug off the cloak to feel the wind in his hair; there was no one out here to see him anyway. He walked to the lake, passing places which brought up so many memories, good and bad. Here was the tree he, Ron and Hermione like to sit under in fine weather, here was where he had rescued Neville’s remembrall in first year. And there was where Oliver Wood had picked up Colin Creevey’s tiny limp body after the final battle. There was where he, Ron and Hermione had nearly been crushed by a giant’s foot during the battle. 

When he reached the lake he sat down heavily, realising the stinging on his cheeks were hot tears pouring from his eyes, freezing in the wind. He put his head in his hand and let himself cry, feeling the pain and grief he tried to keep inside in front of others. His sobs sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet, the only other sound the soft lapping of lake water against the bank. 

He jumped when he heard a branch crack sharply behind him. He gasped and leapt to his feet, whipping around and pulling out his wand, only to find himself pointing his wand in none other than Draco Malfoy’s face.

“M-Malfoy?” Draco just held his hands up, his eyes wide. Harry lowered his wand shakily and wiped his nose with the back of his hand; he was still crying. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was just heading back to the castle. I didn’t mean to… intrude.” Harry took a shaky breath, which came out sounding a lot like a sob. He wiped his eyes roughly, turning away from Draco.

“Potter?” Draco’s voice floated to him softly on the wind. Harry did not reply. After a few moments, he felt a gentle hand touch his shoulder hesitantly. Harry closed his eyes at the touch, taking a sharp, rasping breath in. Harry felt his initial embarrassment at Draco seeing him cry fade, in its place a sense of comfort, and he stopped trying to hold his tears back, letting them flow down his cheek and fall to the ground or slide onto his neck, his shoulders shaking.

After several long minutes, Harry’s breathing evened out, and the tears stopped. He felt… lighter. Draco’s hand was gripping his shoulder tightly now, his thumb rubbing small circles at the base of Harry’s neck. Harry stared at their feet; his own ratty trainers, Draco’s black lace up chelsea boots, sensible for the cold weather but still incredibly luxurious and elegant looking. He took a deep breath and nudged Draco’s toe with his own.

Draco’s breath hitched and his thumb stilled. Harry’s heart stopped for a moment, scared he had scared Draco away, and ruined this tender moment, but after a moment, he felt long, cold fingers brushed the nape of his neck, fingertips creeping into his hair. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. He wanted to look at Draco, meet his eyes, but that small movement seemed impossible, terrifying.

Harry steeled his nerves and summoned every ounce of Gryffindor courage to tilt his head upwards. Draco was staring right at him, his grey eyes wide, his lips a little blue with the cold, and parted, puffs of steam escaping them with every breath. He looked just how Harry felt, terrified, and filled with wonder.

“Draco…” Draco gasped softly in response, his lips trembling. His fingers crept further into Harry’s hair, tangling in the locks. Harry’s brain had short circuited, he couldn’t think, all he could feel was Draco’s gentle fingers in his hair, and his heart in his chest, beating faster than a hummingbird. All he could see was Draco, his wide, scared eyes, framed by fair eyelashes, so blonde they were nearly invisible. His perfect white porcelain skin, free from blemishes and pure and innocent as a child’s. His lips, parted and panting, so close, close enough that Harry could close the gap between them if he just leaned forward…

“Draco…” He wanted to kiss him, he wanted to feel close to this boy he had hated for years, wanted to feel his body under his touch, his lips on his. His body burned with want, with need. He edged forward, drawn towards Draco.

Draco made no move to move away, which Harry decided to take as a good sign. And so, with his heart pounding against his chest, Harry closed the distance between them, and pressed his cold lips against Draco’s.

The kiss was unbearably sweet, it made Harry want to cry in a bizarre way, a large lump rising in his throat. Draco’s fingers tightened in Harry’s hair and he breathed out against Harry’s mouth, his lips suddenly parting. Their tongues met, shocking Harry and filling him with heat, his body reacting enthusiastically to the wet warmth of Draco’s mouth. 

After a split second of the purest pleasure Harry had even experienced, Draco drew away, his lips wet. His hand left the back of Harry’s head and he stepped away. He held Harry’s gaze, his eyes open and unguarded. 

“Potter, I… I’m sorry for your losses. Especially today, I’m sure this is a hard day for you.” He took a step away. He opened his mouth again, seeming to want to say more, but decided against it and just nodded at Harry, before turning and heading towards the castle, his long legs taking him quickly across the grounds.

~

Harry spent the rest of the October break holed up in his room, leaving only to eat and shower, talking only to Hermione, who was so excited about the upcoming Hogsmeade trip and the prospect of seeing Ron that she didn’t push him about his behaviour.

The week passed slowly and painfully, but Harry just tried to sleep, and not think about the tender kiss he had shared with Draco by the lake, and definitely did not think about Draco pulling away and leaving him there. By Friday night however, he really was starting to feel excited about seeing Ron, and Hermione’s delight was infectious. She nattered on and on, her schoolwork forgotten for once. Harry couldn’t help but smile at her, he was truly glad she was happy. He headed to bed promising Hermione he would be up and ready to go by nine o’clock.

He certainly was not fool enough to cross Hermione Granger, and so by ten to nine he was standing in the common room, wrapping a scarf around his neck. At nine, Hermione came running down the stairs, fully dressed in her sensible coat and fluffy scarf. She jumped at him, wrapping her arms tightly around her neck, practically vibrating with excitement. He let her pull him down the stairs and out of the castle, his own face split into a broad smile. As soon as they reached the castle gates he heard a shout and Hermione let go of his hand as she was scooped into the air and swung around by Ron. Harry grinned, listening to their laughter as it filled the air, feeling full to the brim with love for his best friends. 

As soon as Hermione’s two feet were back on the ground Ron pulled her into a passionate kiss, which she returned with gusto. Just as Harry began to feel like a third wheel, they broke apart and Ron gave another yell of delight, and Harry found himself being swept of his feet too, though he was only twirled around once (understandably; he was a lot heavier than Hermione). They broke apart, laughing, and Harry grinned at his best friend. Ron seemed too overcome for words so he just gripped Harry’s shoulder and slapped his back before pulling him into another bear hug. 

Soon, Hermione joined the hug and the three of them stood there for a long time, hugging and grinning like idiots. Harry felt like he’d just come home after a long day.

They walked close together, Ron slinging his arms over Harry’s shoulders or around Hermione’s waist at every opportunity he got, and Harry felt guilty that he felt so relieved that Ron had missed him just as much as Harry has missed him. They headed straight to the Hog’s Head for a badly needed catch up. They talked for hours, Harry and Hermione telling Ron all about Hogwarts, and Ron talking about working with the Aurors, his long hours of training, the field trips, duelling practice and the people he was working. Harry sat back in his seat, cradling his lager and watching Ron as he spoke.

In the few short months since Harry had seen him, Ron had grown several inches, probably due to being regularly fed again after months of fasting on the run. He had grown elsewhere, too, Harry was two drinks down and so felt no shame letting his gaze run up and down Ron’s body. His shoulders had filled out and broadened, and they were rock solid now, his arms toned and covered in new freckles from working out in the sun. He had cropped his hair short, and a shadow of ginger beard lingered on his chin. He looked good, Auror training was clearly suiting him. Looking at Hermione, Harry knew he was not the only one who had noticed Ron’s maturation, she was eyeing him hungrily from across the table, her body language betraying her thoughts. 

As the hours passed, the couple drew closer and closer together, until Hermione was practically sitting in Ron’s lap. Harry knew that Ron had rented a room here for the day, so by six o’clock he decided to give the two of them some privacy.

“Guys, I’m going to head back to the castle, give you two some time to yourselves.” Harry pulled his coat towards him.

“Are you sure, Harry? You know you’re more than welcome to stay.” Hermione said anxiously, but he just grinned in response, and winked at Ron.

“I know. It was good to see you, Ron, Hogwarts isn’t the same without you.” Ron smiled at him and stood, pulling him into yet another tight hug. 

“I’ve missed you, mate. I’ll see you next Hogsmeade trip, yeah?”

“Course.” Harry grinned, gripping Ron’s shoulder. Then he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Have fun you two.”

They all laughed, and Harry gave Ron one last hug before heading outside, letting the cold air sober him up. A light smattering of rain began o fell as he made his way towards the castle, and he tipped his face towards it, revelling in it’s soothing coolness. He managed to nearly make it back to the castle without thinking of Draco, and wondering how the other boy had spent the day, but not quite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I had no excuse not to, I've been housebound with tonsillitis for the last few days :/  
> I just loved this tender moment between our two boys so much, and they've finally kissed, hurray!  
> Thank you so much to all those who have left comments, receiving them genuinely makes my day!   
> Also, does anyone know where my italics are disappearing to? I've noticed that the italics I include on google docs disappear when I transfer the text to this site.   
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter, and that you're having a great day, whoever you are.<3


	9. Chapter 9

One of the best things about having a dorm to himself, according to Draco, was the total privacy he had, allowing him to wank whenever, and however loudly, he pleased. 

The kiss with Potter had brought up many confusing feelings and thoughts, but it had also served to remind Draco that he was a teenage boy with a rampant libido, something his body had seemed to forgotten since around mid sixth year. He had had more than enough on his mind; the Dark Lord, the possibly imminence of his parent’s death, murdering his school Headmaster, the thought of Azkaban, watching muggles be tortured, and that bloody terrifying snake. So he wasn’t exactly surprised that thinking about sex, a once much loved hobby of his, had fallen somewhat to the wayside.

Locked in the Manor all summer, and then settling into Hogwarts hadn’t been prime time for his sexual reawakening, but now he was feeling very settled, and Potter and crashed along, looking all devastated and disheveled, and with a quick brush of his lips against Draco’s, suddenly all Draco could think about sex. 

His first wank in over two years had been frantic, he’d shoved his hand down his trousers the second his reached the safety of his dorm room and come in his pants in less than a minute. He’d slumped to the ground against the dorm room door, too spent to even pull his hand from his trousers. 

Since then, he’d spent the week wanking on every surface of the dorm, standing against the wall, in the steamy showers, in every bed (except for Vincent’s). He was surprised his right hand wasn’t calloused at this point, but he had a lot of time to make up for. 

He hadn’t realised how much tension he was carrying around these days, but now his body at least, felt a lot more relaxed. He hadn’t even minded much that he could no longer go to Hogsmeade, spending the Saturday in bed instead, eating expensive chocolates, writing long letters to his friends, reading Quidditch Weekly (well, wanking over the fittest players anyway), and doing absolutely no study.

Sunday evening came far too quickly, and he went to dinner grumpy that night, annoyed that his relaxing week off had come to a close. Luna had smirked at him from across the table, where she was facing the rest of the room. “Draco.”

“Yes, my lovely Luna?” He was happily helping himself to a large helping at Shepards Pie. He forked a huge mouthful of mash potato into his mouth. His heightened libido had done wonders for his appetite, too.

“Tell me, why has Harry Potter not stopped staring at you since you came into the hall?” She laughed musically as Draco began to choke on his potato. He swallowed painfully and managed to take a gulp of pumpkin juice after a long fit of coughing.

“Excuse me?” His voice was squeaky. Luna just giggled behind her hand in response, her eyes glittering mischievously. Draco chanced a glance behind him only to find that Potter was indeed staring at him. Both boys looking away sharply. Draco went red.

“Oh my goodness!” Luna grabbed his hand. “You like him!” 

Draco spluttered indignantly.

“Excuse me! I absolutely do not! I have no idea what you’re talking about!” He protested, but Luna wasn’t listening. She mimed zipping her lips shut.

“Your secrets safe with me, Draco. I won’t say another word.”

“I don’t…” Draco trailed off feebly. His Shepards Pie suddenly didn’t seem so appetising.

~

Potter was twirling the tip of his feathered quill over his ridiculously flushed, full lips. Draco felt incredibly annoyed. This was borderline pornographic. There were first years in this library, for Salazar’s sake. Draco gripped his quill tightly. Stupid Potter and his stupid red lips. As he watched, a pink tongue tip poked out suddenly, moistening those bloody lips. Merlin. Draco felt very hot.

Harry frowned and huffed suddenly, his fringe blowing up with the breath. A stupid little crease appeared between his unruly, black eyebrows, dark lashes narrowing around those bright green eyes-

Draco jerked, looking down hastily when Potter glanced his direction. His heat pounded in his chest, like he was back in sixth year, sneaking around doing things he wasn’t supposed to. After a second of staring blindly at his Arithmancy textbook, he decided it would be safe to continue glaring at Potter and his disgustingly filthy quill habits. 

He looked up and his eyes met bright green ones. Draco froze. His arms felt very heavy. Suddenly, he was very aware of how he was sitting. Were his legs in a strange position? Were his school trousers riding up too high around his ankles? His shirt collar was uneven, wasn’t it? Merlin, when was Potter going to bloody look away? He tried to school his features into some semblance of a sneer, but stopped when he felt a bit silly; he hadn’t sneered in a while.

Potter smiled suddenly, -when did his teeth become that white? Draco swallowed; his throat felt very dry. When was Potter going to look away? Stubborn in strange ways like this, Draco knew he wasn’t going to look away first. 

Potter’s gaze was… warm. He had very nice eyes, Draco thought absently, but of course he knew that already. Green was a good colour, Draco’s favourite colour, actually. Potter’s smile had slipped, his gaze was intense now. Merlin, it was very hot. Draco could feel his neck heating up. Potter was gripping the edge of his desk. Draco thought about how those tanned, calloused fingers would feel on Draco’s skin, on his back, pulling him near, gripping his thighs. How they would feel wrapped around his thin, toned thigh, how he might move his hands upwards, gripping hard, leaving little marks. The contrast of their skin tones, tanned and golden against milky pale. Draco sucked in a breath.

Potter broke first. He leapt to his feet like he’d been scalded, sweeping his books unceremoniously into his bag before turning and legging it out of the library. Draco was left alone, sweating and breathing heavily through his nose, feeling like he’d just ran a marathon.

~

As soon as he’d slammed the dormitory door shut, Harry had his hand down his boxers, gripping his cock and coming, hard, within a few strokes. He slumped against the door, panting, till his legs stopped shaking enough to allow him to hobble towards his bed. He fell in, chest heaving and mind whirling. 

Godric, that had been intense. If he’d been in any doubt before… there was no doubt now. He was attracted to Draco Malfoy. Very much so. He groaned in frustration, thinking about the sunlight streaming in from the library window, falling on Draco like he was a bloody angel. His intense, sultry glare. Those grey eyes pulling Harry in, like grey pools of sex appeal. He’d had the top button of his shirt undone, exposing an extra inch of white throat. Harry hadn’t been able to write a word of anything that wasn’t total rubbish, too distracted by the thought of how that little hollow at the base of Draco’s throat might taste if he could lick it. How would Draco smell, that close up? Would that pale skin bruise easily, if Harry were to bite-

Harry groaned again, loudly, running his hands through his hair in frustration. The way Draco had looked at him, as if he was attracted to Harry too. Was it possible? They had kissed… but that hadn’t been very sexual, just incredibly intimate. Perhaps that was why Harry felt this way now, he had never shared moments like that with anyone else. Draco was an enigma, Harry couldn’t figure him out, but he was beginning to find that, increasingly, he wanted to learn more.

Harry rolled over, still in his sticky uniform. He thought about Draco’s fingertips tangled in his hari, and raised his own hand, furtively, closing his eyes and pretending that his own fingers were Draco’s, touching the back of his neck gently. His last thought before he fell asleep was of Draco’s eyes, wide, blonde hair blowing softly around his face, as Harry leaned in slowly to kiss him.

~

After several weeks of heated stares and furtive glances during Potions, Harry felt like he was going to burst if something, anything, didn’t happen soon. It was during dinner one night in early December that Harry decided enough was enough. In a perverse, masochistic way, Harry was enjoying that stares and the tension. He’d oddly never felt so alive, his body burned every time Draco looked at him. But tonight, watching Draco from across the hall, laughing with Luna and daintily eating his roast potatoes, Harry knew he couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted Draco, not just physically, but he wanted to make Draco laugh like that, make him smile widely, smile at Harry. He wanted to sit beside him while he studied. They worked well together in Potions, couldn’t they work well together in other ways too? 

He knew they could share their emotions too, after all, both he and Draco had seen each other at incredibly vulnerable moments this year. He knew Draco was brave, in his own way. Not identifying Harry at the Manor, surviving the war and keeping his head high through everything. He never expected anything from Harry like everyone else did, never asked him for anything. 

And Merlin, he was attractive. His long legs seemed to go on for miles, and Harry had spent many a restless night imagining those legs tangled in his, or wrapped around his back. 

Luna was standing to leave now, leaving Draco to finish his meal. As she stood, Draco looked up and met Harry’s gaze. Harry held his gaze calmly, then, heart thudding he made a decision. This Gryffindor was taking the leap. He lowered his gaze, slowly looked him up and down, taking his time to take in Draco’s pale neck, his pushed up sleeves, his exposed wrists, pale and pointy, and those long, nimble fingers, holding his silverware. He looked like royalty even in his fucking uniform. He lifted his eyes again to meet Draco’s, not hiding the fact he had just blatantly checked him out, right here, in the middle of the packed Hall. Draco’s face was flushed and his eyes were wide, and Harry’s lips stretched into a slow, sure smirk, the Gryffindor courage within him raising it’s head and purring.

Holding his gaze, shaking ever so slightly, Draco got to his feet, walking woodenly towards the Entrance Hall. Harry put down his cutlery, and, ignoring Hermione’s questioning tone, got to his feet. He was staring after Draco, with nothing else on his mind, that single mindedness he associated with chasing the snitch. He climbed over the bench, his eyes following Draco’s back hungrily as it slipped out of the doors. He followed.

The Entrance Hall was eerily quiet after the noise of the Great Hall. Draco was there, waiting, as Harry had known he would be. His eyes were wide and his body language was open. The air felt thick. Here was the place eleven year old Draco had once held out his hand to Harry. Now, here, Harry was going to take more than his hand. 

He stopped twenty feet from Draco and just looked at him. The blonde’s chest was rising and falling quickly.

“Malfoy.”

“Potter.” Draco responded without missing a beat, his voice steady and sure, contrasting with his quick breathing. Thousands of moments flashed before Harry’s eyes. Teasing each other, duelling, chasing each other round a Quidditch pitch, staring at each other in the Manor, watching Draco’s eyes fill with recognition before he told his father that it was not Harry before him. Their lips meeting beside the lake, Draco’s mouth hot on his.

They had taken several steps towards each other without Harry noticing, and now they were only a few feet apart. Harry realised, suddenly, that his whole life had been racing towards this moment. Hagrid had brought him into this world so he could meet Draco Malfoy, the first wizard his age he had ever met. They had fought and sniped and sidestepped around eachother for all these years, so that they could connect at the perfect time. He had fought and killed Voldemort so he could stand here, in this moment, and look the rest of his life in the eyes, knowing that he was finally safe. He was finally home. 

They were standing together now, and Draco’s eyes were gazing into his, and his long, strong fingers were clutching at Harry’s back and Harry knew that in one more moment, there would be no going back.

“Harry.” Draco’s voice was full of wonder, scared and sure all at once. 

Harry took a deep breath. Then he leaned in and kissed Draco Malfoy. And the earth moved slowly beneath their feet, as this prophesy no one had ever heard was fulfilled. And Harry smiled into the kiss as his life began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo this is the last chapter! There is one more part to come, it will be an epilogue. I'm sorry this one took so long, but it didn't come as easily to me as the other chapters have. I've had so so much fun writing this, and I hope you enjoyed reading!  
> I have hundreds of stories floating round in my head that I hope I'll be able to write soon. Your lovely comments and kudos have encouraged me to write more drarry stories. I'm writing them constantly in my head while I daydream or sitting on buses etc. so I finally might actually post them somewhere.   
> Thank you so much for reading, and the epilougue is on its way.   
> Love from me to you.


	10. Epilogue

“Potter! Get your skinny arse down here, we’re going to be late!” Draco’s voice yelled up at him. Harry gave up trying to flatten his hair down and grabbed a random tshirt to throw on as he thundered down the stairs, grinning apologetically to Draco, who was stood at the bottom of the stairs, glowering at him, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes raked over Harry’s body. “You look a sight.”

“You too, babe.” Harry threw a charming smile Draco’s way, snaking his fingers up the other man’s forearm. Draco’s arms unravelled as he relented, leaning into Harry, who pulled him into a deep kiss. 

“Mmm.” Draco hummed appreciatively against Harry’s lips. His body began to tingle with the all too familiar feeling of arousal.

“Time for a quickie?” He suggested hopefully, fingers playing at the back of Draco’s soft white shirt, tugging at the material, his fingertips ghosting over the tempting pale skin there. He breathed deeply, tucking his face under the warmth of Draco’s neck, letting the familiar smell wrap around him. He smiled. 

Draco rubbed his back for a few moments, appreciating the muscles underneath the thin fabric, then reaching down and pinched Harry’s arse, quick and sharp like only a seeker could. Harry jumped away with an indignant yelp, rubbing his bum dramatically and pouting at Draco’s smirk. 

“We’re late enough as it is! I want to cuddle Rosie before she gets covered in food and pumpkin juice.” Harry laughed and grabbed his hand, admitting defeat. In a moment they were at the fireplace.

“Fox Glen cottage!” Harry said clearly and soon they were They tumbling out of the Weasley-Granger fireplace, and Draco’s hand was pulled out of Harry’s by a very excited five year old girl with flaming red hair in curly bunches above her ears.

“Uncle Draco!” Harry watched as Draco scooped up the little girl and swung her round, his face so open and full of love that Harry melted just a little. 

“You are getting more and more grown up everyday, my beautiful girl.” Draco cooed at her and tugged the tip of her pigtail gently. Little Rosie blushed and giggled, cuddling into Draco’s neck.

“Harry? Draco? Is that you?” Hermione’s face popped around the edge of the doorway. She smiled warmly at them and beckoned them into the kitchen. 

They hugged and exchanged greetings, Draco kissing Hermione’s cheek in place of a hug so as not to disturb Rose, who was perched on his hip and chatting a mile a minute, about the new storybook she was reading, and how her Daddy had taken her to the park today and how they had fed the ducks and-

Draco nodded very seriously and listened to her carefully, a small smile playing on his lips. They entered the warm kitchen, where Hermione was waving her wand at a pot of carrots on the stove. The kitchen was so cosy, so Hermione and Ron, and Harry loved it. The family cat meowed loudly in the corner, tail flicking irritably at all the noise. Pots stirred themselves on the stove and plants and piles of book and bits of newspapers sat on every available surface. Brightly coloured drawings of stick men and misshapen houses were stuck to the walls, along with a large orange clock with four hands, labelled Ron, Hermione, Rose and Hugo. Draco and Harry sat down at Hermione’s request, Rosie perched in Draco’s lap, describing the park ducks to him in great detail.

“Ron should be home any minute, I asked him to get some wine on his way home…” Hermione was saying as she spelled a pile of plates to the table, and as Harry watched the clock the ‘Ron’ hand slid from ‘work’ to ‘home’.

There was a whoosh from the fireplace and a second later Ron swept into the room, his red Auror robes swirling around him, along with the smell of cold air. “Honey, I’m home!” he announced loudly and theatrically, causing Hermione to smile fondly as she turned to kiss her husband. He patted her bum with a cheeky grin and she swatted him away with a laugh and a blush.

“Daddy!” There was a thud as Rosie leapt off of Draco’s lap and jumped into her father’s arms, who caught her mid air and hugged her tight, after twirling her around as she laughed. He put his daughter down after a moment to slap Harry on the back and nod at Draco with a grin.

“Hope you’re ready to lose tonight Malfoy.” Draco’s indignant scoff was cut off by a yell and a three year old boy change into the room, a tea cosy on his head and a toy dragon swooshing around him, roaring surprisingly loudly for such a small toy.

“Dad!” Ron picked up his son with a laugh and hugged him, waving his wand at the dragon while his son was distracted to lower its volume. After interrogating their father about his day, and whether or not he had ‘caught any baddies’, the chaos of their excitement died down eventually to a more manageable level of mayhem. Ron disappeared to change out of his work clothes and then they all chipped in in getting the dinner to the table, laughing and teasing each other and rescuing Hugo from the trouble he seemed to get into every couple of seconds, climbing up onto counters he couldn’t get down from, or challenging the menacing cat.

They ate and laughed and played with the Rosie and Hugo until the kid’s eyes began to droop. The kitchen was so cosy and smelled so good, and Harry’s feeling of contentment was only amplified by the glass (or several) of good red wine he’d drank with his dinner. He sat back in his chair, watching Hermione wipe a bit of mash potato off Hugo’s little cheek, kissing his soft red hair when she’d finished. Rosie was falling asleep in Ron’s lap, but managed to whisper them goodnight as she drifted off to the land of nod. 

Hugo was giving another huge yawn now, and Hermione nodded at Ron, transferring her sleepy son into her husband’s lap. He held them both close and jiggled his legs a little until they were both fast asleep, two little mops of red hair next to Ron’s own. He winked at Harry before getting to his feet slowly, careful not to wake either of the children. He disappeared out the door to put the two to bed, carrying them easily, his arms strong after years on the field. As he traipsed up the stairs, humming softly Harry noted Hermione’s contented smile and grinned. He loved coming here and the feeling of being a part of a real family. He loved watching Rosie and Hugo grow, they had the perfect childhood, full of fun and laughter and love and surrounded by people who loved them. It made him hopeful for the future, and proud of the war they had won, because it meant that kids everywhere could grow up now in a safe world. 

He concluded his musings and turned to look at the love of his own life, only to find Draco already watching him, his soft smile mirroring Harry’s own.

‘I love you.’ Harry mouthed. Draco reached across the table and took his hand and squeezed, his strong but gentle hand fitting into Harry’s perfectly. They smiled at each other for several long moments until Hermione gave a pointed cough, looking at them with amusement. 

When Ron appeared downstairs again, he was brandishing a chess board and Draco’s mouth stretched into a smirk.

“Eager to lose, are we Weasley?”

Harry shared a look with Hermione and she grinned, grabbing a bottle of wine and heading for the sitting room; they knew that Draco and Ron would be lost to the world for at least the next hour.

He and Hermione sat on the comfy couches in the Weasley-Granger sitting room, wrapping colourful knitted blankets around their knees, drinking wine and catching up on their weeks. They laughed and gossiped, enjoying this time with just the two of them. Hermione shared anecdotes of the stuffy old wizards on the Wizengamot she had sat on a few days ago, and a particularly amusing story about Lily asking a mortified Ron about the birds and the bees. Harry shared stories about his days in the school (eight year old witches and wizards got up to more antics than Harry had ever imagined were possible), and how he had accidentally finished the last of Draco’s fancy blue cheese, which had not gone down well.

The wine was long gone when they heard a triumphant shout from inside the kitchen. Draco came dancing into the room, teasing Ron loudly and waving his wine glass around. Ron came sloping into the room after him, grinning sheepishly. 

“Where’s the leader board?” Draco demanded, looking around the room with one hand on his hip. Hermione summoned the ‘Worldwide Wizarding Chess World Cup’ chart with a laugh. Draco smugly ticked off a mark on his side of the board and waved it at Ron. “I’m catching up Weasley! A few more wins and we’ll be drawing!”

Ron just laughed and patted Draco fondly on the shoulder. “One day, mate.”

Draco flopped down on the sofa with a triumphant huff and cuddled into Harry. Harry wrapped his arms around the slender waist and breathed in Draco’s smell, feeling himself relax even more.

He and Draco spent another few hours with Ron and Hermione, talking and laughing. When they eventually rose to leave they were more than a little tipsy. Harry hugged Ron and Hermione in turn, and Draco kissed Hermione’s cheek with a giggle and shook Ron’s hand. They waved as they flooed away, with promises to have the whole Weasley-Granger family round to Grimmauld Place during the week.

They tumbled back into the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, and within seconds Draco was on Harry, kissing him fiercely and tearing at his clothes. Harry opened his mouth straight away, submitting to Draco. Loud moans spilled from his lips onto Draco’s as the blonde whipped Harry’s belt out of his jeans. Harry’s hips bucked and he pushed Draco back, heading towards the stairs. 

Harry’s t-shirt fell in the doorway. Draco’s shirt fell at the bottom of the stairs. Their trousers were abandoned on the ascent, and by the time Harry was pushing Draco back onto their bed (King sized, and covered in green silk sheets), they were naked, and Harry fell on Draco, their hot skin touching all over. They kissed hungrily, moaning and pulling at each other, wanting to be closer, closer. Harry’s glasses were steaming up a little, and bumping against his nose. He knelt up, for a moment, to take them off, and the urgency of their kissing mellowed. Draco pushed himself up onto his elbows to watch Harry, and get a good look at the body he loved so much. Those strong, tanned shoulders and his firm chest, covered in dark, sparse hair. The hair which led down; a snail trail towards the mass of dark curls that lay between solid thighs. A little scar there, above his knee, and the heart shaped scar on his chest, from the wretched locket. His little belly, which was growing soft with age, no longer the hard, flat plane of their youth, which Draco loved so much, all the more because Harry was self conscious about it, it made Draco want to kiss it and love it the most, because every part of Harry was perfect. 

Harry removed his glasses slowly and clicked them closed. Draco sat up and reached out, closing his fingers around Harry’s hands. He took the glasses from Harry’s hands and kissed his knuckles before turning to place the glasses on the nightstand at Harry’s side of the bed. He turned back to Harry now and kissed his temple, sliding his hands down his sides, squeezing his hips lightly. 

“Fuck me.” The whisper was loud in the quiet room, and Harry shivered. Draco’s whisper ghosted over the shell of his ear. After all these years, one whisper from Draco could still drive him wild.

Their sex that night was passionate. They had nights like that sometimes, nights when they couldn’t get close enough to each other, when tears accompanied their orgasms, when they held each other for hours afterwards, kissing and whispering to each other in the dark.

Draco fell asleep first; he usually did. Harry held him close, letting his breathing fall into time with the other man’s.

~

When Harry woke, he lay still for a while, feeling the sun on his face as it shone through the window. Eventually, he wiggled his arm out from underneath Draco’s head, and swung his feet out of the bed. He found his abandoned boxers by the door and pulled them on, before rooting around in his wardrobe for his favourite soft, worn jeans, which he knew Draco loved (but wouldn’t let him wear out of the house).

Whistling, he traipsed down the stairs to the kitchen. He found the post owl tapping the window irritably, and decided to grab a handful of treats before he opened the window, to hopefully avoid his fingers being bitten half to death. 

Paper safely secured, he flicked on the wireless and began bustling around the kitchen. First port of call; coffee. He spooned the insanely expensive ground coffee (so expensive it made Harry’s eyes water every time he bought it, but Draco refused to drink anything else) into the cafetiere, and left it to brew as he popped bread into the toaster and pulled out a pan for his eggs. 

That was how Draco found him when he eventually made his way downstairs; wiggling his hips to the music as he fried his eggs, wearing those ghastly (gorgeous) blue jeans that hugged his arse just right. He grinned at the sight and crept up behind Harry, unnoticed. He snaked his arms around the other man’s waist, resting his chin on his shoulder.

“Got you.” He growled into Harry’s ear, pressing his hips forward. “You’re mine now.” Harry grinned and made a moan of mock anguish.

“Oh no!” He wiggled his bum into Draco’s naked cock, pressed against his jeans. “What am I going to do?”

In response, Draco just laughed pinched his ass before retreated to the breakfast table, grabbing the paper as he went. “Feed me. I might consider freeing you then.”

They ate together at the table, Draco eating a single piece of toast with marmalade and about a gallon of black coffee, reading little snippets from the paper to Harry. Harry demolished a mountain of eggs and admired Draco’s naked form. Draco liked to eat breakfast naked, always, no matter the weather, and it was one of Harry’s favourite things about him (and the only breakfast habit of Draco’s he had not learnt by watching him across the Great Hall for all those year).

Sundays were their lazy days, and they spent it as such, venturing out around midday for a walk in the sunshine and yet another cup of coffee for Draco. When they got home, Draco cooked as Harry watched. They ate and fucked on the couch, complaining about how they were getting too old for that when Harry got a crick in his neck from the awkward angle.

On Monday, they would be Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, Harry teaching in the local wizarding primary school and Draco off in the Ministry in his smart black robes, bossing people about and talking about business things that Harry would never understand. 

But together, they were harryanddraco, attached at the hip, happy and content in their own world. Lovers, soulmates, best friends. Figuring their lives out together.

And they would never have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was this just an excuse to write daddy!ron? ...Maybe  
> These little domestic drarry moments are always in my head, and I thought this would be a nice way to round up this story. Thank you again to eveyone who read this, it means the world to me. Hopefully I will be back soon, but until then, peace. And long live drarry.


End file.
